


Out of the Dark

by Szajnie



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Blood and Gore, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 11:58:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Szajnie/pseuds/Szajnie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU version of events in Shingeki no Kyojin in which Eren doesn't rescue Mikasa from her kidnappers.</p>
<p>(I will be trying to keep the events of canon in-canon as much as possible and the characters true to themselves.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost Girl

 

 

Prologue

Year: 844

* * *

 

She is a broken shell of a thing when he finds her.

 

Tucked away in a dark back room that smells of incense and opium, fettered to a bedpost, she is a pale, dark haired ghost clad in a decorative robe that slouches down her shoulders, revealing far more than it hides.

 

At first he's not even sure she's real. She stares straight ahead, her face expressionless and her eyes—exotic, strange eyes that are gently tilted at the corners and a color that he can't quite make out—are so very flat...so very dead.

 

If he hadn't noticed the rise and fall of her shoulders he would have sworn she was just a figment of his imagination. Although, he thinks, he would have imagined someone a lot older—and cleaner.

 

She's slim to the point of malnutrition, all angles and awkward limbs. She has a curtain of black hair that hangs in a greasy tangle over her miniscule breasts, but there is something about her that—even now, like this—is wholesome and innocent.

 

A rare commodity.

 

Levi swallows back his disgust, taking in the rumpled sheets and dirty floor. He has seen just about every form of human depravity that can be imagined. As a boy he spent the bulk of his adolescence bare-knuckle boxing in dark alleys for survival and coin, surrounded by the dredge of humanity—the hungry, the sick, the desperate and dirty _._

 

He had seen—every single day—how people passed by without so much as a sideways glance, happy in their bubble of obliviousness and content to ignore the crying wails of a mother pleading to keep her child from starvation...or worse.

 

Because there are fates worse than death.

 

And this was one of them.

 

“So, do you like?”

 

Levi turns and see two of his fellow scouting legion soldiers enter the room.

 

“What the hell is this?”

 

“Your gift, man.” Hershal, the larger and dumber of the two, makes a sweeping gesture with his arm, indicating the ghost-girl and the room as a whole. “A little stress release before we head out tomorrow, if you know what I mean.” He clutches his crotch lewdly,

 

This time Levi can't contain the disgusted sound that emerges.“For fuck's sake, she's a _child._ ”

 

“What she is, is a damn expensive hour,” Hershal corrects, indignant. “Look, man, this is just Ian's way of apologizing for the way things went down. Bygones and all that shit. No one wants you as their personal enemy, you know.”

 

“It's not personal,” Levi comments, his voice flat. “I don't give two sweet shits about Ian or his sleazeball gun racket.”

 

Landers—less dumb, balding, and thinner—shakes his head. “Not our business. We was just told to bring you here and make sure you had a good time.” He makes his way across the room towards the girl and Levi feels his muscles tighten, a slow rage churning in his guts.

 

Soft, crooning noises come from Landers as he reaches out, dirty fingers with chewed nails stroking the girl's exposed arm. “Hey there pretty thing.” He glances over his shoulder at Levi. “Hey, man, if you don't want her—shit!”

 

Levi hadn't even realized he'd moved until Landers' rotten breath washes over his face. He tightens his hand, fingers threatening to break the arm in his grip. “Don't touch.”

 

Landers winces, stumbling back when Levi releases him. He rubs his arm, glowering, before re-joining Hershal at the door. “That's what she's _for_. Touching. Shit, man. Maybe the rumors about you are true.”

 

Levi glares.

 

“None of our business, again,” Hershal interjects, shooting Landers a warning glance. Perhaps, Levi thinks, he should re-assess which one was the smarter of the two. “Look...just...enjoy and whatever,” Hershal says, placating. “She's yours for the next hour. Do whatever—or don't.” At the door he glances back towards the bed, almost wistfully. “I sure as hell wouldn't waste it.”

 

Levi is left staring at the scarred wood of the closed door. He sighs, rummaging his hands through his hair before casting his own glance towards the bed. She hasn't moved—this ghost of a girl—and he wonders if she's even _aware_ _._

 

He walks, casually, to the small table near the door where a bottle of unopened whiskey, complete with tacky red ribbon, sits. He watches the girl from the corner of his eye and notices that her dead eyes are following him. So she is, at the very least, aware of his presence.

 

“I don't know about you, but I sure as hell can use a drink,” he says, lifting the bottle.

 

She says nothing.

 

He peels the wax seal away and wipes the lip of the bottle with a handkerchief he pulls from his pocket. He doesn't bother with the glasses on the table because they look disgusting and he can't believe he even stepped foot in this filthy shit hole.

 

He takes a long pull from the bottle, eying her still form. She stares in return, not even blinking.

 

“Can you talk?” he asks, and it's more gentle than most things that come out of his mouth.

 

She stares. Blank and vacant.

 

He sighs.

 

He should just walk out of the room. Go back to his actual hotel room, get some rest, and forget this whole shitty evening. He takes another drink.

 

He sets the bottle back onto the table before squaring his shoulders. This is such bullshit. He crosses the room, closer to the bed, and his stomach churns. He can smell sweat and urine and a faint musk that makes his skin crawl.

 

His eyes travel her statue-still form and he notices for the first time the way her fingers are curled into the folds of her robe, clenched so hard that he thinks the knuckles are going to bust through.

 

“I'm not going to hurt you,” he tells her.

 

She watches him with her dim eyes and does not move.

 

Levi fights the urge to roll his eyes. He can only imagine the horrors this girl has endured, so a little patience on his end isn't too much. “I just want to look at something.” He crouches, following the curve of her too-thin leg to the manacle clasped around her ankle. It's so tight that it has dug into her flesh and the area around it is bright red, infected and smells like rotted meat. He gags and stands.

 

The slow burn of anger in his stomach ignites and he swears violently.

 

She flinches away from him and bows her head. The motion parts her long, dark hair and Levi catches a glimpse of scale and claw. A tattoo. He recognizes the dragon as belonging to one of the underground gangs that run much of the city. He should, he thinks, bitterly, his hand drifting towards his shoulder.

 

She's a _kid_ , for fuck's sake, he thinks angrily. Used, abused, and branded like an animal. It's not unusual and it's not unheard of, but he can't help but feel sickened by the sight. He takes a slow, steadying breath. “Can you move?” he wants to know. Is she so immobile out of fear? Or is it physically impossible for her to?

 

He can't tell and she's not answering.

 

Suddenly her head jerks up and her eyes go wide and Levi barely has time to turn as the door swings open and three men in masks push inside. They are dressed all in black and all carrying weapons.

 

A trap, he realizes, taking a defensive stance. Those rat bastards led him into a damn trap. “Let me guess,” he drawls, calculating his movements. “Ian sends his regards?”

 

The brute to his right swings the bat in his hands and Levi reacts by rolling to the floor—the gross, _disgusting_ floor—and comes up swinging. He catches the guy under his jaw with a punch that knocks a tooth loose.

 

“All at once,” another shouts. “Attack all at once!”

 

Levi kicks the table, grabs the whiskey bottle, smashes it against the wall. It's a shit weapon compared to the two long daggers and crow bar still aimed at him, but it's what he has. His gear is back in his room and he's here in civilian clothes like a yuppie.

 

The three men fall upon him all at once in a coordinated attack that speaks of training. These aren't just goons—these assholes are military.

 

Levi grunts when the crowbar catches him in the ribs, but he uses the attackers momentum to swing around and avoid the dagger. He is kicked in the back, sent sprawling into the tossed table and broken shards of glass. His palms split and bleed and the whiskey stings, but he barely acknowledges it. He scissors his legs, catching the dagger wielder and tripping him to the floor. He tilts his head, narrowly escaping a renewed bat attack before rolling back and coming up in a crouch.

 

The three men are guarding the door, knowing that it's his only exit from the dank, windowless room. They shift their weight, edgy—impatient—as they wait for his next move.

 

Fuck it, Levi thinks, and charges.

 

He is met with a slam of crowbar to his shoulder, a bat to the back of his head, and a dagger digging into his arm. He manages to flip crowbar-man and stomps on his face, enjoying the satisfying crunch of bone beneath his boot. He stomps again, just for good measure. His brief moment of triumph is exactly that—brief—and he is tackled to the floor.

 

“Give me the fucking knife!” The guy on top of him shouts. “The knife! The fucking knife!” But the knife doesn't appear and Levi uses the momentary confusion to his advantage. He knees up, hard, and crushes every soft bit he can manage between the fucker's legs. Again. And Again.

 

“Gross!” he says when his assailant pukes—luckily mostly trapped by his ridiculous mask.

 

Levi rolls the man off of him and scrambles to his knees. He snaps the guys neck with brutal efficiency before whirling, prepared to take down the last man, but to his utter astonishment the man is already on his knees beside the bed. He is clawing futilely at the chain wrapped around his neck and it takes Levi an extra moment to process the fact that the feral, snarling, vicious creature holding the ends is the ghost-girl.

 

She is wrenching so tightly that blood vessels are bursting in the man's eyes. He makes a series of choking, wet, sounds and then stops struggling, arms falling limply to his sides. And yet the girl doesn't relent, she is pulling ever tighter, ever harder, and Levi sees the tears on her face.

 

He takes an unsteady step forward. “Hey,” he says. “Hey...it's okay.”

 

Her eyes snap up to his and he almost wishes they were still vacant because in them he sees so much agony that it makes _his_ chest hurt.

 

Cautious, he reaches out and places one hand over hers. “Let go.”

 

To his surprise she does.

 

The body falls to the floor with a dull thud.

 

The girl scrambles backwards, away from him, panting, with her lips peeled back from her teeth.

 

Levi holds up his hands. “Not gonna hurt you.”

 

She fumbles in front of herself for a moment before coming up with one of the daggers. She holds the hilt with both hands and raises it between them.

 

“Easy,” he says, careful to keep his voice even and low. “I'm not with these fuckers, if you couldn't tell.”

 

She still doesn't make a sound, her eyes darting between the three men on the floor and Levi.

 

Levi bends, with his eyes still on her, and unwraps her ankle chain from the dead body. It's heavy in his hands and cold. He lets it drop.

 

She winces.

 

It's still digging into her, still gouging tender young flesh, leaving scars that will never fade. He suddenly, vehemently _hates_ that it's on her. He wants to rip it from the post. Levi scans the room, locates the crowbar and picks it up.

 

On the stained bed the girl goes still.

 

Levi turns towards her.

 

She raises the knife.

 

“Oh, hey, no—I'm not—”

 

She slashes her wrist.

 

“Fuck!” Levi rushes her. “Shit, shit, fucking hell. You dumb ass!” He wrestles her to the mattress, surprised by how strong her grip is on the blade is as she struggles against him. She opens her mouth on a silent scream and kicks out, but it's useless. He's stronger and he rips the dagger from her blood slick fingers and tosses it across the room with a clatter.

 

“Damn you,” he seethes—uncertain as to just exactly who he is more furious with. He grabs her robe and rips a long strip of it. She fights him, clawing at his face and baring her teeth. “Knock it off!” he shouts and she stills.

 

She turns her head to the side, away from his, and he watches a slow slide of a tear as it falls along the slope of her rouged cheek. He busies his hands with tying the fabric around her wrist and tries not to focus on the dark bruising he can see along her face and neck and down to her breasts now that he is up close.

 

When he is finished with the binding he forcibly sits her up and yanks her robe closed. He grabs her chin between his thumb and forefinger, waiting until she looks at him. It takes a minute, but she finally does.

 

“I am going to pick up the crowbar,” he tells her, slowly. “And then I am going to smash the fuck out of the chain on your leg. I need you to understand that I'm not trying to hurt you. Nod your head if you understand.”

 

A heartbeat. Two. Five. Then a nod.

 

“Okay.” He slides off of her and the bed.

 

It takes him ten minutes to bust a link and loose the chain from the metal bed post. He wishes he could remove the shackle completely but he has her mobile at the moment, and that's something.

 

“Name's Levi. You got a name?”

 

She says nothing.

 

He decides not to press. “Can you walk?”

 

She moves to the edge of the bed and swings her legs down. He watches them tremor when she stands and he is sickened and alarmed when a trail of yellow ooze bubbles from the infected area around her shackle.

 

She tries to take a step and nearly falls.

 

Levi shifts the crowbar into his left hand before reaching out to unceremoniously haul her over his shoulder with his free hand.

 

“Don't fidget or so help me I will drop your ass.”

 

She is motionless.

 

He gentles his tone. “Good girl.”

 

The hallway is empty when he pokes his head out. He's almost surprised before he remembers that the assholes he came with probably think he's dead and have left so as not to be anywhere near. He adjusts his hold on the girl and sprints forward.

 

He doesn't bother with the foyer or main entrance, but instead takes the stairs. There is a fire balcony on the second floor and he uses that to egress. It's a bit awkward, climbing down with her tossed over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, but he makes it with minimal trouble.

 

In the alleyway he sets her to her feet.

 

“There's a smith near here. Let's get that off of you.” He gestures to her ankle.

 

She says nothing.

 

“Do you understand?”

 

A nod.

 

“Can you walk if you lean on me?”

 

Another nod.

 

Levi yanks off his black jacket and wraps it around her. “Put this on.”

 

Wordlessly, she does as she's instructed.

 

“Okay. Let's go.”

* * *

 

It takes several long minutes to make their way to the smith and Levi can feel the weight of sideways stares and the blatant disregard of others along the way. It makes his teeth clench and his jaw ache.

 

She's a child. Someone's lost little girl. Clearly dirty, clearly injured, and yet people are letting him walk by with her limping in tow without saying a word. It disgusts him and shames him.

 

She seems to sense his displeasure and shrinks in upon herself and he wants to shake her. It's not you, he wants to say. But he doesn't, because he doesn't know if she would even understand when he doesn't himself.

 

The locksmith is an elderly man with kind blue eyes that sharpen and narrow on Levi when they enter his small shop.

 

“I didn't do this to her.” Levi defends when he realizes what the man must be thinking.

 

The old man with the kind eyes makes a tsking sound and motions for Levi to place her onto a bench. When he tries to touch her she kicks him. It's hard enough to knock him to the floor and bloody his lip.

 

Levi places a hand on her shoulder. “Stop it. He's trying to help you.”

 

She stills.

 

Levi nods and the locksmith approaches again—with a bit of hesitation. It's a simple lock, he tells them—not that Levi gives a shit—and has it opened in a matter of seconds.

 

The skin beneath is nearly black and Levi can't tell if it's from the metal or from rot.

 

“She needs a doctor,” the old man says.

 

“No shit.”

 

Another tsking sound.

 

Levi tosses a few coins onto the work table and helps the girl to her feet.

 

“Shoes probably wouldn't hurt none, either.” He hears as the shop bell jangled and the door swung shut. Levi glances down at her bare toes and sighs. Without a word he swings her up into his arms. She is stiff at first, but by the time they reach his hotel she has her arms wrapped around his neck and her head has dropped to his shoulder.

 

The receptionist gives him a raised brow that Levi ignores. “Get a message to Commander Smith,” Levi barks, passing some of his men in the lobby. Alert, they wait for his command. “Let him know I need to see him as soon as he can get here. Also, find Landers and Hershal. Arrest them.”

 

They salute and are off in a blink. They do not question his orders or the girl in his arms. Levi thinks he's going to like them.

 

His room is quiet, lit by a lantern, and smelling of lemon when he pushes the door open. Good, the damn maid service showed up after all. He only had to complain three different times. He pushes that thought to the back of his mind and shuts the door with his heel.

 

The girl is so quiet and still he wonders if she's dozed off, but when he lowers her to the bed she is wide awake and staring.

 

He backs away, tugging at the cravat around his neck. “You smell like piss,” he tells her. “You need a bath and some bandages.”

 

She says nothing.

 

He gestures to the adjoining room. “I'm going to run you a bath, all right? Don't so anything stupid while I'm in there.”

 

Nothing.

 

“Do you understand?”

 

A nod.

 

He enters the bathroom and starts grabbing towels and toiletries. He pokes his head out after a minute and sees that the girl is still on the end of the bed, in the exact same position he left her in. She flicks her dark eyes his way when she notices he's looking at her and her teeth appear in what could be either a very poor attempt at a smile or a snarl. He can't tell.

 

Her eyes narrow.

 

Snarl. Definitely a snarl.

 

He returns to the bath.

 

He makes it as hot as he can stand it and adds some flowery scented shit that is in a pretty basket by the sink. He watches the bubbles froth and foam and tries not to think.

 

His skull is killing him and he can feel the blood trickling down his arm from his stab wound. Keeping an ear out for the door, or the girl, he peels his shirt off.

 

He takes a set of tweezers and begins plucking shards of broken whiskey bottle from his palm. When that task is finished he rinses his hands and moves on to cleaning the wound in his arm. It's not terrible—will probably scar and needs a couple of stitches—but he can manage for now with a simple bandage.

 

Satisfied that his immediate needs are addressed he settles onto the edge of the tub to test the water. It's been a hell of an evening and it's catching up to him. He drops his head down and exhales and nearly comes out of his skin when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

 

The girl is in the bathroom, her dirty bare feet entering his vision.

 

Levi tips his head back, shoulders still hunched. She stares down at him with her unreadable eyes.

 

“You stink,” he tells her.

 

She bows her head.

 

“Not your fault,” he murmurs.

 

She stiffens.

 

Levi feels something in his heart clench and he finds himself reaching out to touch her...grips her fingers in his. “None of this is.”

 

Her lips press together, trembling.

 

“Hey,” he tugs a bit to get her attention. “It's not your fault. The things that they did to you—” He can't finish because her face twists and he's afraid she might break and even though she probably needs that, he isn't the person to pick up the pieces. So he simply says, “Do you understand?”

 

She shakes her head: no.

 

Levi lets out a sigh and says, “That's all right.” He lets go of her cold fingers and stands. “Get in the tub.” He moves to the door, keeping his back to her. “I'll be right out here.”

 

He leans against the wall, just beside the slightly ajar door and listens. He hears the shuffle of fabric, then the displacement of water and then silence.

 

“The washcloth is right there,” he calls and waits to hear her splashing.

 

Still silence.

 

“Hey,” he knocks on the wall. “You aren't gonna get clean just sitting there.”

 

More silence.

 

The little brat better not be drowning herself, he thinks with a flare of irritation. He knocks on the door again. “Oi! I'm talking to you. Grab that washcloth.”

 

There's a small splash.

 

“Scrub up.”

 

He hears her moving about. Satisfied, he slides down the wall and resumes his leaning position and closes his eyes.

 

When he opens them again the lantern is nearly empty and the room is almost completely dark. The hell? He shoves to his feet, blinking rapidly. He is the only occupant of the room and the bed is still made. His heartbeat speeds up and he pushes the bathroom door open.

 

She is still sitting in the tub, with her arms around her knees, head bowed and she's shivering.

 

“What are you doing?” he demands, grabbing a towel from the shelf and marching towards her. “Why the hell are you still in there?”

 

She tips her face towards him and her eyes are blank.

 

“Fucking hell.” He crouches beside the tub, searching her face. “Where'd you go?” he murmurs, hating the deadness of her gaze.“Why didn't you get out?” He reaches down and drags her from the cold water, wrapping the towel around her trembling frame. He feels a dawning realization and mentally kicks himself. “Is it because I didn't tell you to get out?”

 

She stares with her cold, dead eyes.

 

“Did you stay in that tub because I didn't tell you to get out?” he presses again.

 

A shiver then a nod and her eyes flicker with a hint of life.

 

 _Fuck_.

 

He rubs his hands up and down on her arms, using the friction of the towel to add some heat.

 

She is skin and bone and bruises, he notices, tucking the edges of the towel together and ushering her from the bathroom. She limps—her ankle still a mangled mess thanks to who knows how long of being trapped in that shackle.

 

Levi goes to his closet and pulls out one of his workout shirts and a pair of shorts. He tosses them onto the bed. “Not pretty,” he tells her, “but they'll do.”

 

She stands motionless and still.

 

He lets out an aggravated breath. “Get dressed.”

 

The towel drops and she shrugs into his clothes. Levi makes sure to look at the ceiling while she does so. Nudity doesn't bother him, but he's not about to make this any more awkward for her than it needs to be. Although, given the conditions he found her in, he doubts anything he can do would effect her one way or the other.

 

She's completely fucked up. That much is clear.

 

When he's sure she's dressed he drops his gaze back down and motions to the bed.

 

She blinks at him, brows furrowing in confusion.

 

“Bed,” he tells her.

 

Another confused blink and she reaches for the hem of her borrowed shirt, starting to peel it back off.

 

“No!” Levis shakes his head. “Sit. I need to bandage that ankle and your wrist.”

 

She takes stilted steps and does as she's told.

 

He's no medic, but he's capable, and makes quick work of wrapping her ankle—which looks awful still, but isn't black, and that is a relief. He moves to her wrist and his brows furrow. He stares at the pale skin in his hands, noticing the scar—much too old to be her self inflicted wound. It's a symbol that he is unfamiliar with, but it's definitely an intentional branding and he bites back a swear.

 

“Is there any part of you those bastards didn't damage?”

 

She yanks her arm away, cradling it to her chest and there is _hurt_ in her expression. Levi doesn't understand, nor is he in the mood to try. Instead he grabs her other arm and carefully examines the knife gouge she made. It's deep, but not long—a clumsy cut.

 

He places a gauze pad to it and begins to bind.

 

She watches in silence, but there is something in her eyes that wasn't there before. A dim, faint, flicker of life.

 

When he finishes with her wound she holds out her other arm again.

 

“What? You want that wrapped to? It's a scar.”

 

She shakes her arm.

 

“Fine. Whatever.” He wraps it and her eyes soften. She runs the very tips of her fingers over the white bandages and her lips quiver.

 

“You are beyond strange,” he mutters, gathering the loose bits back up. He stands, motions to the bed. “Go to sleep.”

 

She eyes him warily for only a moment before turning to crawl up the mattress. She tugs back the thick quilt, crawls beneath and closes her eyes.

 

She is snoring—like a damn man—within minutes.

 

Levi settles into one of the wingback chairs near the window, watches the rise and fall of her breathing.

* * *

 

He wakes to screaming.

 

Horrible, agonized screaming.

 

He nearly falls from the chair, his brain playing catch up to his body as adrenaline has him ready to rip someone's head off.

 

Someone is shouting in the hall and banging on his door, but it's the girl in the bed that has his attention. She is tangled in the blankets, wide eyed, and shrieking like the damn devil.

 

Not mute then, is all that runs through his rattled brain before he's gripping her bony shoulders. “Hey! Snap out of it!”

 

She punches him. Hard.

 

“Ow! Damn it!” he shakes her. “It's me! Levi. Stop!”

 

The screaming stops.

 

There are tears in her eyes and she is shaking so hard it feels like convulsions.

 

The pounding on his door grows louder—more insistent.

 

“Go away!” Levi shouts.

 

“Sir? Is everything all right in there?”

 

“I said go away!”

 

There is hesitation from the hall.

 

“She's having a nightmare,” Levi says, his gaze on the girl. “Just a bad dream.” Softer, to her. “Just a bad dream.” But he knows—on some level—that whatever horror she witnessed in her sleep is so much more than that.

 

He relaxes his grip and she panics, gripping his arms. “Stay.”

 

It's a croak of sound—barely even a word, but he hears it.

 

He shouldn't. He knows nothing of her and given her past it's safe to assume that most men in her bed were not a comfort, but as he stares down into her terror filled eyes he relents. “Okay. Move over.”

 

She slides back.

 

Levi grabs a corner of the blanket and shakes it out before slipping in. He rolls to his back, staring at the ceiling.

 

There is a large gap between them—space enough for two more of her—but he still feels strange. Part of him wants to offer words of comfort—but he has no idea where to even begin there—and part of him wants to gather her up and toss her into the hall and let someone else deal with this shit.

 

He feels her hand, just the tips of her fingers, touch his.

 

He keeps his eyes on the ceiling and decides not to throw her into the hall.

 

She yawns and closes her eyes.

 

She wakes him twice more in the night, unintentionally, as her body is wracked with shivers and she whimpers quietly. Her thin fingers clutch the pillow and she turns her face into it as she moans in pain. At first he is confused and then he remembers the smell of opium in her dank dungeon.

 

_Fucking hell._

 

He hesitates to touch her but when she starts to weep quietly he does. He rubs one hand in slow circles over her back and then brushing through her hair. He waits until she falls back to sleep before he leaves the bed to fetch a trash pail and washcloths.

 

He's not sure when her last dose was. He's not even sure _what_ they had her hooked on, but he does know, from experience that vomiting is not far off.

 

He holds her hair back when she wakes only an hour later to heave over the side of the bed, and wipes her chin when she leans back. There is nothing in her tiny body to throw up, but she heaves regardless, and the terror on her face breaks his heart.

 

He's not a soft man, he's done terrible things, but how anyone can do _this_... It makes him wonder if humanity is even worth salvaging.

 

When she finally falls back to the mattress, drained and exhausted, he remains awake. Watchful.

* * *

 

In the morning Erwin arrives with Hange.

 

Levi keeps his statements short and to the point—describing the events that led him to her location, how he found her, the ambush, and how they escaped.

 

Erwin listens with objective indifference while Hange makes sympathetic noises, her gaze flickering to the girl in the corner every so often. Doctor Jaegar, summoned by Erwin, is examining her and Levi is surprised that he hears no protests from the girl. She is rather complacent about the whole thing.

 

“Can we keep her?” Hange finally asks when Levi finishes.

 

“She's not a damn dog,” Levi snaps.

 

Erwin steeples his fingers and regards them both before turning his attention to the girl. “What then, do you suggest?”

 

“She's someone's kid. Find her parents.”

 

“Her parents are dead.” This from Grisha Jaegar.

 

All eyes turn to the doctor. “And you know this for a fact?” Erwin asks.

 

“I do.” Grisha removes his stethoscope and comes closer to them. He lowers his voice, mindful of the child. “Her name is Mikasa Ackerman. I've treated her since she was a baby. She was kidnapped just over nine months ago from her family farm. Her mother and father were killed.”

 

“Ah. So an orphan then. Perhaps the orphanage?” Hange suggested.

 

“No.”

 

“No?” Erwin glances at Levi, one thick brow lifted.

 

“No,” he repeats.

 

There is silence from the collective group until Jaegar clears his throat. “I'll take her in.” He looks back over his shoulder where Mikasa is now sitting quietly, wrapped in a blanket as she stares out the window. “I knew her parents. I know her. She will need medical attention and rest after the trauma she's endured. I can provide that. I have a son about her age, as well, and Carla has always wanted a little girl. She'll be welcomed into our home.”

 

He lists off the reasons like he's offering an application. Which, Levi supposes, he is. He looks at the doctor for a long hard minute and the other man meets his gaze readily. His desire to help her appears earnest and Levi swallows the unexpected protest that lodges in his throat. He has no reason to object. It's not like he can keep her himself—and doesn't _want_ to, he feels the need to remind himself. This really is the best solution.

 

He feels Erwin's appraising look so he nods. “Make sure you feed the brat. She's nothing but skin and bones.” With that he rises to his feet. “If there's nothing else?”

 

Erwin shakes his head. “Dismissed.”

 

Levi feels his muscles tighten, knows somehow that she's staring at him, but he doesn't turn. He salutes Erwin and heads for the door.

 

He can dimly hear Grisha talking to the girl... _Mikasa_...telling her that she is going to go home with him. He hears Hange cooing and Erwin clearing his throat. What he doesn't hear is the one word that will turn him around.

 

_Stay._

 

So he keeps walking.

* * *

 

He doesn't think about her again for months. Not until the news of Wall Maria reaches him does she cross his mind. He's listening to the reports of casualties and he pauses, thinking of her, and hopes that she made it out alive—and if she didn't that her death was quick. She deserved that much, at least.


	2. Deja Vu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the disbandment of the 104th, Mikasa sees a familiar face during the departure of the Survey Corps.

**Chapter One**

Year: 850

_Deja Vu_

 

* * *

 

The normally quiet city square was a bustle of activity when Mikasa emerged from the recruitment barracks. The city was out in full it seemed to see the main force of the Scouting Legion off on another mission. The roadway had been cleared for the horses and wagons while shop keepers and merchants set up small booths along the sidewalks to take advantage of the increased traffic.

 

Mikasa would never understand how sending troops off to almost certain death was a reason for celebration and sales, but she couldn't quite shake off the excitement either. She tugged her thin sweater over her shoulders and adjusted her scarf while scanning the crowd for any sign of her companions, Eren or Armin. If she knew them, they were already lined up to see the departure—warm peanuts in hand.

 

Sure enough, she found them towards the gates. They waved their arms high in the air when they spotted her, both breaking out into wide, welcoming, smiles. She returned their enthusiastic greeting and jogged the last few feet separating them.

 

“Here.” Eren placed a small bag of popped corn into her hands when she reached his side. “I know you don't like peanuts.”

 

Mikasa stared at the fluffed kernels for a moment, lips pressed together. “Thank you,” she murmured, feeling a familiar tingle in her cheeks. Gruff, sometimes foolhardy and headstrong, Eren wasn't always the sweetest of people, but he always made sure to include her—to think about her—and it made her heart soften and her cheeks bloom.

 

She didn't really remember much of her life before she'd moved in with the Jaegars, but despite her not being born to them, they had always made her feel welcome and like family—they took care of her. She vowed, now that it was just she and Eren, to do the same.

 

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Armin using her as balance while he adjusted his shoe. “Sorry,” he said, sheepishly, when he straightened.

 

She smiled, shrugging. “No problem.” After all, Armin was included in her mental family as well. Sweet, soft spoken, shy and intelligent, he had been bashful when he'd met her—and she rather reclusive—but soon they grew quite fond of one another, sharing stories and ideas, dreams and secrets. Their mutual love for Eren also tied them together and Mikasa didn't think anything would ever break their bonds.

 

“I haven't seen any soldiers yet,” Eren was saying, craning his neck to peer over the crowd. “Just think, after we put in for our assignments tomorrow we could be one of them.”

 

“I wonder what they're searching for this time?” Armin said, his gaze speculative. “It must be something substantial to send out the main force.”

 

“They're coming!” Eren interrupted, pushing to the balls of his feet excitedly. “I see the Commander! Look, Armin, look!”

 

Armin laughed, easing away from Eren's jostling hold. “I see him, Eren, calm down.” He exchanged an amused, knowing, glance with Mikasa. Eren's fascination and admiration for the Scouting Legion was nothing new. He'd wanted to join their ranks even before the fall of Wall Maria. It was something that Mikasa had secretly, silently, feared. She wanted Eren to be safe. Always safe. So she knew, if he joined, she would too. And had.

 

She graduated at the top of their class—a rank that meant less than nothing to her—but it allowed her to have the freedom of choice, and that meant she could follow Eren wherever he chose. Not that she had imagined him choosing anything other than the Legion, but if he had she would have followed.

 

“And look,” Eren exclaimed again, pulling her attention from her inner thoughts.“It's _him_. Captain Levi. Humanity's Strongest. They say he's as strong as an entire brigade.”

 

“A one man army,” Armin echoed, nodding, his own eyes wide. “Yeah.”

 

Mikasa turned her attention to where Eren was indicating and froze. Everything in her body tensed up—locked tight to the point of pain. Her breath lodged in her throat, choking her.

 

“ _Name's Levi. You got a name?”_

 

Mikasa clutched her head with her free hand, grimacing against the unexpected pain that shot through her temple. It's like the scrape of claws against her skull, jagged and biting. Dimly, she heard Eren say something to Armin about the Captain but she couldn't focus. Suddenly the crowded street faded away and she was all alone. In the dark.

 

She was cold. Shaking. Scared. _Mama? Papa?_

 

Blood.

 

Screams.

 

Pain.

 

So much pain. There was so much pain.

 

Make it stop. Please. Help. Help me.

 

_Help._

 

“Mikasa?” Armin was the first to notice her distress.

 

Her knees gave way.

 

“Mikasa!” Eren caught her close, peanuts scattering to the ground as he pulled her to his chest. “Mikasa? What's the matter?” Worry laced his voice. “Hey!” He cupped the back of her head, bent his to shield her from the prying eyes of the people passing. “Mikasa?”

 

Breathing short, shallow, breaths Mikasa followed the tether of his familiar voice, dragging herself back from a darkness she had no name for. She slowly regained her focus, concentrated on the steady drum of Eren's heart beneath her ear. This was real, she told herself. Hold onto real. Hold on to Eren.

 

Not her nightmares. Just bad dreams. Just bad dreams...right? Just bad dreams.

 

Despite reassuring herself she kept her eyes tightly closed and avoided looking towards the soldiers again, even when she felt strong enough to stand on her own. She ran a shaking hand through her hair and shook her head when Armin offered her some of his canteen.

 

“Sorry,” she murmured, hating the tremor in her voice.

 

Eren, frowning, kept a steadying hand on her back. She could see the concern in his eyes and it touched her. She felt Armin's fingers on her arm—slim but firm.

 

“I'm okay,” she reassured them. “Really.”

 

They both nodded but their hands remained and she was silently grateful. She rubbed her fingers against her head and let her friends hold her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He was sick to death of the crowd. He sighed, waiting patiently for the order to depart. If he heard one more shrill scream of his name he may just start out on his own. The praise wouldn't bother him nearly so much if it wasn't coated false and fickle. Sure, people were now waving flags and banners, cheering and offering words of luck, but what of the return? When the wagons were lined with corpses and their efforts amounted to minimal success—if any at all. Where was this support then?

 

Worse, Levi felt, was the wide eyed gazes of adoration from the brats littering the street. They'd be less inclined to stick him on a pedestal if they had a single inkling of what it was like to actually _be_ him. “Stupid brats,” he grumbled, shifting impatiently in his saddle.

 

“You know,” A voice came from his right. “They'd probably be appalled by what a clean-freak you are. It's a good thing they have no idea.”

 

“Tch.” He rolled his eyes and looked away from Hange Zoe's smug smile. She chuckled, adjusting the straps of her goggles beneath her thick ponytail.

 

Levi was about to make a biting retort when he caught a small commotion out of the corner of his eye.

 

A girl—dark hair, pale face—nearly falling to the ground, saved by the quick reflexes of her companions. Levi noted the maneuver gear belts the taller boy was wearing, pegged him for a recruit. He flicked his gaze over the girl. He couldn't see her features, veiled as they were by the fall of her hair, but for a brief heartbeat of a moment he felt _certain_ that he knew her.

 

That it was _her._

 

He shook it off, scolding himself for even _caring_ one way or the other. That little girl had barely crossed his mind over the years. Why should he be thinking about her now, of all times? He slanted a second glance in her direction, but she was still turned from him and he couldn't make her out.

 

Not her, he decided. Not that it mattered. Even if it was.

 

“The gates are lifting!” The call resounded over the crowd and wild cheers began anew.

 

About damn time. Levi nudged his horse into motion, refusing to look back.

 

Not her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The crowd dispersed relatively quickly once the soldiers were through the gates, but Mikasa lingered in the square. She assured both Eren and Armin that she was fine—just light headed from the excitement. She knew neither one was buying her lie—she was rather awful at lying, actually—but they had let her be.

 

They all had to prepare for assignments but she couldn't quite bring herself to go back to the barracks just yet. She was still shaken from...whatever that was that happened. She sighed, taking a seat on an empty bench, pressing her fingers to her temples and rubbing slow circles.

 

Why had seeing that man...Captain Levi, affected her so? She'd heard his name hundreds of times—you'd have to be dead or living under a rock to _not_ know the name of Humanity's Strongest Soldier...so why now?

 

She took a steadying breath and closed her eyes, trying to visualize him again. Dark hair...unreadable eyes...firm mouth...somber expression...

 

Strong arms.

 

Safe.

 

He'll keep her safe.

 

Take her away from the dark.

 

Take her away from...

 

_Suffocating._

 

She can't breathe.

 

Hands on her throat.

 

Holding her down.

 

“ _Be a good girl...”_

 

Mikasa bent over the side of the bench, retching. She was shaking and terrified. Not simply scared, she could feel every muscle in her body coiled tight and the urge to run—run and run and run—was nearly overwhelming. When the last of the heaving stopped she wiped the back of her hand across her lips. What the hell was wrong with her? She took a shuddering breath.

 

They were graduates now. She needed to get it together and keep it together.

 

Pushing to her feet she shoved her confusion and inexplicable _fear_ to the back of her mind. She couldn't protect Eren if she was anything less than top form. She would--

 

“Mikasa!”

 

She spun towards Armin's alarmed voice.

 

She was instantly sprinting towards him as he ran to her. “What is it? Is it Eren?”

 

Breathless, Armin nodded. He held his side, panting. “Y-yeah. We ran in to Hannes and he asked about his dad and...” Armin paused a heartbeat, brow furrowing for a moment. “And...just like you, he grabbed his head and...well, he fainted.”

 

Shit. Mikasa took off in the direction Armin had come from.

 

For the past few years whenever Eren tried to recall the events after the wall came down he could with perfect clarity—except when they pertained to his father. Mikasa didn't remember seeing Grisha again after they fled the city, but Eren said he had. He had the basement key as evidence...which Miaksa couldn't really refute. He _did_ have it, even if neither one of them knew how he got it.

 

A refugee physician had told Eren that his blackouts and blank spots were his way of coping with the trauma he'd witnessed. Repressing the painful memories.

 

Mikasa stumbled a bit as she ran, wondering if maybe that was what was happening to her? She barely recalled her life before the Jaegars. She remembered her mother and her father. She recalled—in all too vivid detail—their deaths...but after that...not much. Flashes of things, but nothing substantial.

 

Doctor Jaegar had told her very little about how and where he'd found her. Only that she'd been through a great ordeal and that she was now a member of their family.

 

She had been very sick, Eren once told her. With fevers and chills and lots of vomiting, but his dad had given her medicine and care and she'd eventually gotten better. She still attributed her healing—heart and body—to Eren and his constant presence.

 

He would hold her hand when the chills rattled her teeth. He would read to her when she couldn't sleep. He would hold her when she had dreams that she couldn't remember but that crawled into her mind like slick serpents of fear and terror. He had even knitted her a scarf for the winter...

 

Her fingers brushed the soft material around her neck.

 

“ _Black like your hair.”_

 

She saw him when she rounded the corner of a building. Hannes was still hovered over him. Relief washed his features when he spotted Mikasa.

 

“I forgot—” he began, but Mikasa waved him silent.

 

“He's breathing all right,” Hannes straightened, allowing Mikasa and Armin to crouch beside their friend. “Heartbeat is strong and steady. Just like last time.”

 

Mikasa nodded, smoothing her hand across Eren's brow. “Come on, Armin. Let's get him back to the barracks.”

 

“Here.” Hannes picked Eren up, ungraciously over his shoulder. “I'll carry him.”

 

Mikasa wanted to protest but she knew for Eren's ego it would probably be better for it to be Hannes.

 

Sensing her reluctance Armin squeezed her hand. “I'll go with them. Watch over him.”

 

“Thanks, Armin.”

 

“Sure.” He hesitated. “Mikasa?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Are _you_ all right? Really?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Okay, but if you need—”

 

“Just...take care of Eren for me.”

 

He squared his thin shoulders. “You can count on me.”

 

Mikasa walked with them until they entered the men's barracks. Sighing, she adjusted her scarf and returned to her own and hoped that tomorrow would be better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for lack of Levi and interaction, but it's coming.
> 
> (I should also mention that these early chapters are written with the assumption that the reader has watched the anime or read the manga so some details may be skimmed or omitted.)
> 
> Thanks for reading!! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Theme song for this fic: "Help" by Hurts
> 
> (This prologue was initially set up at a one-shot, but I decided to make it a multi-chapter story, therefore, there will be a tense shift in the coming chapters.)


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